


Idiots

by anitawrites (anitamendes)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt, M/M, My First Smut, Oblivious Jaskier | Dandelion, One Shot, Vanilla, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Ships It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26524558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anitamendes/pseuds/anitawrites
Summary: Jaskier is definitely not in love with Geralt. Except that maybe he is, and a hunting accident makes him realize his feelings.or, Yennefer knows best, as always.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 4
Kudos: 126





	Idiots

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, thanks for reading! This is my first ever completed work, and I'm aware it's not perfect, so please be gentle.  
> Constructive criticism more than welcome, enjoy :)

The worst part about being in love with a witcher had to be the waiting. The terrifying, endless hours spent shivering next to a fire, hoping and praying that he would come back once again, that you could just laugh off your fear with him, and get the chance to hold him closer than the time before, hoping it would be enough to keep him from leaving again. Of course, it never was.

It was extremely rare to find a witcher in a long term, successful relationship, and that dreadful waiting, with all the anxiety and stress that came with it, had to be the main reason. Witchers would always hunt monsters, and humans would always want to believe that they were important enough to change their very nature.

Jaskier wasn’t the typical human, of course. For one, he wasn’t in love with a witcher. He was, on the other hand, best friends with one, or so he would like to think - Geralt would most likely disagree. He also understood and respected that monster hunting was part of the deal. But Jaskier cared about Geralt more than anyone else in the world, and while he was convinced it wasn’t romantic love, it didn’t make the waiting any easier.

On this particular night, he was lucky enough not to have to wait alone. Tucked under his arm, nestled close to the fire in hopes of leeching away as much warmth as possible from any available source, Yennefer of Vengerberg was shivering violently enough to make Jaskier’s teeth chatter. On any other night, she probably would have been able to use magic to warm herself up, but Geralt had asked her not to, seeing as the scent might distract him.

“He’ll come back, you know,” Jaskier whispered to her after a few hours of holding her tensed body closed to his. “He always comes back.”

“I’m not worried about him,” she stubbornly replied. And perhaps it was true. Jaskier wouldn’t pretend to understand their overly complicated, ridiculously messy, on again off again relationship.

“Good. Because there’s no need to be.” His words might have succeeded in reassuring her anyways, had his voice not been shaking so badly.

“Convincing,” she snorted sarcastically, and Jaskier just stood up with a sigh. He made his way to his bedroll, ignoring Yennefer’s protests at the loss of warmth.

“There’s no point in waiting any longer. He’ll want to leave early in the morning, and you two may not need very much sleep to function, but in case you’ve forgotten, again, I am still very much human. I need rest,” he said through gritted teeth. Yennefer just stared at him for a while, before sighing herself, and getting into her bedroll.

“He will come back, Jaskier,” she whispered, her tone softer than he’d ever heard.

“Yes. I know. That’s what I’ve been saying all along,” he whispered back, a little bit annoyed.

“You’re not fooling anyone, darling. I can tell you’re worried, and it’s okay. You love him, of course you’re worried. No shame in that,” she continued, and Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat.

“I don’t love him,” he said quickly. Yennefer raised a single eyebrow, amused. “I mean, of course I love him, he’s my best friend. What I mean is I don’t _love him_ , love him,” he added nervously, wincing at the awkwardness of his own words.

“Sure,” Yennefer snorted. “Idiots, the both of you,” she mumbled, barely audible, shaking her head before turning around and settling down to sleep.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jaskier asked nervously. She didn’t answer. “Yennefer! What do you mean?” he insisted, louder this time, but she remained silent. “God I hate you so much sometimes,” he grunted in frustration, rolling on his back and clutching his bedroll to his chin.

-

Jaskier opened his eyes with difficulty, to find Yennefer’s face ridiculously close to his, her hands roughly shaking him awake. “What the actual fuck?” he grunted, pushing her away before rubbing his eyes, the sun blinding him a little bit.

“He’s not here,” she said, fear clear in her voice.

“What are you talking about?” Jaskier asked, annoyed, his brain still fuzzy with sleep and not grasping her meaning.

“Geralt. He didn’t come back last night,” she explained, frantically packing up the small camp they had set up the night before while waiting for the Witcher to return. Jaskier jumped out of his bedroll, understanding and horror mixing on his face.

“What do you mean, he didn’t come back? Are you sure?” He started mindlessly packing up his stuff as well, his mind racing, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for Geralt’s disappearance.

“We fell asleep, and he wasn’t there when I woke up, about ten minutes ago. Did he say where he was going? Or even what he was hunting?” she asked, not giving Jaskier any time to actually answer. “You need to finish up packing, and I’ll go look for him. Watch after Roach, and for fuck’s sake, please try not to get killed. And whatever you do. Don’t. Fucking. Move. Or else I will find you, and kill you myself. I am not tracking two idiots today.” And before he could say anything, she had disappeared through a portal.

Fuck.

Jaskier took a deep, shaky breath, and then finished packing up his stuff, before taking care of Yennefer’s, avoiding even looking at Geralt’s still tightly packed bag, next to where Roach’s leash was tied to a tree. Once he was done, he found water and food for Roach, who was usually so calm and so noticeably skittish now. Jaskier thought briefly that she could probably tell that something was wrong with Geralt. He then brushed her down, whispering reassuring words in her ear that he didn’t truly believe himself.

And then came the point where there was nothing left for Jaskier to do but wait. He sat down next to Roach, who was lying down by the tree, and when she gently nudged his shoulder with her head, he finally broke down. Tears streaming down his face, struggling to find his breath, Jaskier felt the panic overtake him at last. It was as if the ground could open up under him and swallow him, and he wouldn’t feel any worse than he did right then, when his mind slowly came to the inevitable conclusion that this was it. This was the hunt that Geralt would never come back from.

“I didn’t even say goodbye, Roach,” Jaskier choked out, clawing at his own scalp. “I don’t remember what he said before leaving. I don’t remember what the last thing I said to him was.” He was sobbing now. It seemed as though every second was worse than the last. And then anger started to bubble in his chest. Anger at Geralt for allowing himself to get killed. Anger at himself for believing this day would never come, and getting attached to someone with such a dangerous job. And anger at Yennefer because… “Where the fuck is that witch?” he screamed, and Roach headbutted his shoulder again. “Yes, sorceress, I know. Well she’s not here to correct me, is she? I swear, if she got herself killed too, I’m-.”

Jaskier didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, because a portal opened up a few yards away, and Yennefer tumbled out of it, dragging a lifeless, limp body with her. Jaskier’s heart dropped to his stomach.

“Geralt!” he shouted, already running toward the two of them.

“Yes, I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Yennefer grunted, dropping Geralt’s massive, and most likely impossibly heavy body to the ground.

“What the hell happened to him?” Jaskier gasped, kneeling down next to the witcher, flipping him with difficulty, so he was now laying on his back. That’s when he noticed that Geralt was covered in blood, and some other unknown substances. Jaskier took a deep breath, trying very hard not to be sick. “Is he…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Of course not,” Yennefer scoffed. “I took care of him. But he would've been, had I not arrived in time to save his ass. The bastard better be grateful when he wakes up. This dress was one of my favorites.” She was furiously trying to wipe out the blood from the fabric, and if Jaskier had been paying attention to anything she had been saying anymore, he would have easily noticed the relief hidden under the guise of annoyance and disgust.

Except that Jaskier wasn’t paying attention anymore, because he was now crying, holding Geralt’s face in his hands, their foreheads pressed together. He also didn’t see Yennefer shaking her head, a soft smile on her lips when she realized what the bard was doing.

“He really is going to be fine, Jaskier, he’ll wake up in a few hours,” she said, rubbing his back, before standing up and going over to Roach, pretending to make herself busy to give the two of them some privacy.

-

Geralt did in fact wake up a few hours later, grumpier than usual, and in desperate need of a bath and a proper bed to rest in, if he wanted to make a full recovery. Yennefer and Jaskier walked in silence next to Roach, who was carrying Geralt. There was, however, a new found understanding, and perhaps even friendship in their silence, which Geralt was too exhausted to notice and question.

They arrived at a small village after a relatively short walk, an hour at most, and were lucky enough to find two vacant rooms at the inn, as well as fresh bathwater. Jaskier silently made his way to his room, after Yennefer promised to look after Geralt until they met again for dinner in the common room of the inn.

Once alone, Jaskier made his way to the small mirror which hung on the wall next to a bucket of water, and almost gasped at the state of his face. He was covered in dried mud and blood, which must have been Geralt’s, his lips had been bitten raw, and his hair was covered in dust. But what truly horrified Jaskier was how red and puffed his eyes were, the evidence of hours of crying, first in horror and grief, then in soul crushing relief.

Jaskier felt his face heating up, and watched his cheeks turn a bright red color as he realized how much he had cried, and how ridiculous Geralt and Yennefer must have found him. He felt his stomach twist in embarrassment, as he palmed his face and groaned. “Idiot,” he muttered through gritted teeth. Frustrated tears were now rolling down his cheeks, which certainly wouldn’t help. The worst part was that he was having difficulty understanding why he had felt so intensely that day. Why his grief had been so devastating, and why the relief of hearing Yennefer’s reassurance that Geralt would be okay had made the sun shine again somehow. And then realization dawned on him. His head snapped up, staring straight into his own eyes in the mirror.

“I’m in love with him.”

Fuck.

-

Jaskier had spent twenty minutes pacing his room, hoping that if he tugged hard enough on his hair, it would all go away. It didn’t. He just ended up with an aching scalp, and a broken heart.

He had spent the last few years convincing himself that all he wanted was to be Geralt’s friend, which was already hard enough to accomplish on its own. He had pointedly ignored how flushed and flustered he would feel everytime Geralt took off his clothes, looked into his eyes for one second too long, or laughed unexpectedly at one of his jokes, which practically never happened and was sure to leave Jaskier speechless for a minute or two. He also liked to pretend like it wasn’t jealousy making him feel sick to his stomach at night, knowing he was with Yennefer, or anyone else really. He had convinced himself that it was just the same fear that would overtake him every time the witcher left for a hunt, the fear that he would never come back.

It took another long while for Jaskier to actually get cleaned up and into fresh clothes, at which point he had thankfully managed to erase all traces of his excessive emotions of the day from his face. He just hoped that his traveling companions had been too shaken up themselves to actually notice or remember. Now that he had finally understood the real reason behind it all, he would hate to be asked about it. He knew he truly was a dreadful liar.

After another ten minutes of trying to build up the courage, Jaskier slowly made his way downstairs to the common room, and to the dark corner where Geralt and Yennefer were whispering to each other at a table, heads close, steaming hot food untouched in front of them. Jaskier recognized the jealousy this time, and couldn’t believe he had ever been foolish enough to miss it.

“Ah! Jaskier!” Yennefer exclaimed when she noticed the bard shyly sitting down across from them. “We were about to start without you. What took you so long?” she asked innocently, though Jaskier couldn’t help but shoot daggers at her with his eyes.

“Nothing. Just took my time is all,” he mumbled, looking down at the plate in front of him and hearing his own stomach growling at the realization that he was absolutely starving. He hadn’t eaten all day, and barely swallowed anything the night before because of how scared he had been for Geralt - justifiably so, as it turned out. “You didn’t have to wait for me,” he added, as he started eating his meat. Beef, it would seem. Nice.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jaskier. Of course we waited. Right, Geralt?” she asked, and Jaskier was starting to think she might not be so innocent after all.

“Right,” Geralt grunted, not looking up from his food, somehow sounding even more distant and grumpy than he had been earlier. What the hell was Yennefer playing at?

The three of them ate in silence, and rather quickly considering how exhausted they all felt. Jaskier and Geralt kept their heads down, missing the quick, amused glances Yennefer would give the two of them every once in a while. Jaskier was too busy fidgeting in his chair anyway, trying to find a way to ask Geralt how he was doing without sounding clingy or suspicious. He really hated this. Twenty four hours ago, he would have simply asked, and not thought about it any further.

Before he could decide between “How are you feeling?” and “What the fuck happened out there?”, Geralt stood up abruptly, and promptly made his way back upstairs without a word to either of his companions. Prick, Jaskier thought with bitter disappointment. Yennefer giggled, but said nothing.

-

Geralt made his way to his room, and let himself fall on his back on the surprisingly comfortable bed. His entire body was sore from his misadventures, and while Yennefer had healed most of his wounds, he was still covered in tiny cuts and bruises that painfully protested any movement. But Geralt didn’t care about any of it. He was far too busy obsessing over his conversation with Yennefer to notice any of his relatively small, physical aches.

_“Jaskier seemed really worried about you today,” Yennefer said, smirking into her glass of wine, staring Geralt down._

_“Hmm,” he grunted, ignoring her. He would not go down that road. Jaskier was off limits, had always been, and this was just Yen’s way of teasing him a little, riling him up because she liked it rough in bed sometimes. But Geralt wasn’t sleeping with her that night anyway, so there was no need to play her stupid, slightly twisted seduction games. He simply tightened his grasp on his glass, biting his tongue._

_“One could almost say a little too worried,” she added, chuckling now because she could probably feel the witcher’s resolve failing. Jaskier was a touchy subject, and she knew it. “I’m just saying, maybe there’s some unresolved issues there.”_

_“Would you stop? I’m not doing this with you tonight,” Geralt groaned, wincing internally because he knew he had just betrayed himself. He made a show of looking around to make sure Jaskier wasn’t around to overhear her._

_“Look, Geralt, I’m really not trying to mess with you here. But if you want my advice,” she said softly, pointedly ignoring the look Geralt was giving her, “you should apologize to him.”_

_“Apologize?” Geralt scoffed, but asked nonetheless. “For what? Almost dying?”_

_“Precisely that. Geralt, you didn’t see him today. He thought you were really dead, and he held himself together while I was there, but I could practically smell it on him. I’ve never seen a person so desperately heartbroken before,” she said, reaching out to gently cover one of Geralt’s rough, battle-scarred hands with her own, delicate one. Geralt wasn’t fooled by the enchantment. Even if she hadn’t chosen to keep the scars on her wrists, he would have recognized the carefully concealed, cold pain in her eyes, the result of years and years of struggle. They understood each other in that comforting, unspoken sense._

_“I thought I was the victim here… Why am I the one who needs to apologize? I didn’t try to die on purpose,” he said, still feeling guilt annoyingly build up in his stomach._

_“Then don’t apologize, if you don’t want to. But you’re an idiot if you think that you wouldn’t have shattered his entire world if you truly had died, and a fool if you can’t see how in love the poor man is with you,” she finally said, and Geralt flinched back, pulling his hand away from hers._

_“Don’t,” he warned. If there was one thing he was good at, apart from hunting monsters, and he was beginning to doubt his skills in that department, it was avoiding false hopes. Witchers were lonely people. There was no room for romance in his life, and there wasn’t much to love anyway. He made sure of it._

_She ignored his warning, and twisted the knife. “He won’t make the first move, Geralt. He loves you too much to even think of imposing any kind of inconvenience on you, and you make sure he sees himself that way , with your brutish attitude and constant dismissals. But somehow, he loves you, and I can tell you want him too, whether you’ve admitted that to yourself yet or not. And a love like that? So all encompassing it feels like the world is pointless without it? It’s all any of us could possibly ask for, and he’s ready to give it to you. You’d be the stupidest man on the planet if you were to pass up on it,” she said, the slightest bit of envy in her tone._

_Geralt was about to respond, when he heard a chair being pulled from their table, and Yennefer innocently turned her attention on Jaskier, smiling at him when he sat down on the opposite side of the table._

Geralt played the conversation on a loop in his mind, trying to find a way to convince himself that he didn’t want to take the chance Yennefer had so eagerly urged him to take. He had been in love with Jaskier and had known it since the first time they had met, when Jaskier had so beautifully laughed as Geralt head butted that elf in the face, and cheered him on. He hadn’t thought it was possible for a human to see his violent side, and not care. But Jaskier had stayed at his side since then, never once seeing a part of Geralt that he deemed too dark to tolerate. At times, it had even seemed like Jaskier genuinely liked Geralt as a friend.

But now Yennefer had gone and put ideas in his head, and he hated her for it. He had been careful to keep his feelings safely tucked away in the deepest corner of his heart for years, and she had dug them up in a matter of minutes. And now, Geralt found himself making his way to Jaskier’s room, hoping against all hope that, somehow, Yen had been right. That there was a chance that he could bare those dark, hidden parts of his heart, and Jaskier wouldn’t run away.

Geralt had never believed anyone could love him, much less a human. But Jaskier made him want to take a chance for once, in his long, lonely life.

-

“I wanted to thank you, for what you did today. For saving his life. I don’t know what I would have done if he’d…” Yennefer just smiled, nodding.

Jaskier coughed, clearing his throat, before standing up. He and Yennefer had finished their dinner in awkward silence after Geralt’s abrupt departure, and Jaskier was still hoping that his emotional outbursts had gone undetected.

“Well, I’m going up to my room now. Need my beauty sleep or whatever,” he muttered under his breath, before turning away to escape the sorceress’ piercing gaze. Seriously, could she read souls? Jaskier hoped not.

“I’m sorry about today, Jaskier,” she said. “I know it was difficult for you to see him that way, to not know if he was alive or dead for so long. I wish I could have made it easier for you.” Jaskier swore under his breath. She looked like she was about to add something then, but changed her mind.

“I’m sorry, too. I wasn’t very helpful…” he sighed. And then, because he just couldn’t take the awkwardness of knowing she knew how he felt, “I also may have called you a witch out of frustration? I corrected myself immediately though, you can ask Roach.” She giggled lightly at that. “So I’m sorry about that, too,” he chuckled as well, but his heart wasn’t in it, and they both knew it. There was a long pause, the two of them enjoying the simple understanding of a secret shared.

“It’ll work out in the end, Jaskier. Nobody outruns destiny,” she whispered, but Jaskier heard her crystal clear.

“Doesn’t seem to stop anyone from trying,” he muttered, feeling his cheeks burning up. This was as close to an admission as he would allow himself.

“No,” she truly laughed this time. “They certainly don’t,” she smiled at him. It was strange. He had only known his feelings for a couple of hours at most, barely understood them himself, and yet there she was, simple and perfect understanding lighting up her eyes. Jaskier nodded, Yennefer nodded back, and then he was gone, making his way back upstairs, no doubt to cry his heart out.

Yennefer shook her head, and finished her glass of wine.

-

Jaskier opened the door to his bedroom, making his way straight to the mirror. He gathered cold water from the bucket, splashed it on his face, and sighed deeply. He allowed his exhaustion, physical and emotional, to weigh down on him for a second. As much as he wanted Yennefer to be right, he had known Geralt for years now, and had never seen him even look at a man that way, much less at Jaskier. Added to that the fact that Geralt had never seemed shy about expressing his desires, and had no problem taking any girl he wanted to bed, there was very little room for Jaskier to reasonably hope that the great White Wolf had ever been interested in him.

He rubbed his face once more, and started taking off his jacket, when he caught sight of something unusual in the corner of the mirror. He whirled around, grabbing for the knife that Geralt had given him for protection after teaching him how to use it properly, and which he had forgotten to put back in his belt after his bath, cursing his forgetfulness. But Jaskier quickly realized there was no threat to defend against. Geralt was awkwardly sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at a complete loss for words.

“The knife is on the table, which is definitely not where I told you to keep it,” Geralt finally said, and Jaskier scoffed, incredulous.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack. Was almost dying today not enough for you?” he asked, feeling like he might cry again, and regretted it when he saw the pained look on the witcher’s face.  
“What are you doing here?” he added more softly.

“I just… wanted to check on you I guess,” he lied very poorly, but Jaskier didn’t notice, too busy trying to calm down his poor heart.

“I think I should be the one to do that today,” Jaskier gently replied, scanning Geralt’s body for any sign of pain or discomfort.

“I’m fine. I’m not dead, and Yen took care of the stab wounds, so…” he replied, in unusual detail. Jaskier was used to asking five questions and having one half answered after hunts. Made for difficult songwriting, but Jaskier had learnt to appreciate the mysteriousness.

“Good. That’s good. As long as you’re okay…” he mumbled, not managing to look him in the eyes anymore, so he stared at his hands instead, wringing them together nervously. Had Geralt always been like this? It seemed like he took up all the space in the room now, with his muscular body and his irresistible, brutish charm. How had Jaskier ever thought his love for him was purely platonic?

There was a long, awkward pause, during which Jaskier picked at his fingernails, feeling Geralt’s scalding stare on him. But Jaskier refused to break first. After all, Geralt was the one who had so rudely invaded his room, and if he had something to say, then that was up to him. Jaskier hadn’t asked for this. He just wanted a long night of peaceful sleep, a few blissfully unconscious hours when he wouldn’t have to think about anything, or anyone.

Finally, he heard Geralt take a deep breath. “Listen, Jaskier…” he started, and Jaskier’s resolve to remain quiet broke down instantly.

“I’m sorry I overreacted today. You weren’t dead and it was ridiculous of me to cry that much, or to act so crazed. I just really care about you,” Jaskier winced, “and I lost it. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable, I know you don’t like it when people… And anyways, if you don’t want me to travel with you anymore, I understand. I can leave you and Yennefer alone, you might need the time together anyway. I’ll find something to do, probably… Just let me know and I’ll be out of your way.” Jaskier hadn’t dared look up to meet Geralt’s eyes, too scared to find any kind of sign that he was right.

“Jaskier…” Geralt murmured, sounding almost brokenhearted. “I’m not here to ask you to leave.” Jaskier’s heart treacherously skipped a beat.

He finally looked up to meet the witcher’s eyes. “Then why are you here?” he barely whispered, but Geralt would have heard him without his enhanced hearing. It felt like they were in their own bubble, any noise from the outside world silenced by the deafening sound of Jaskier’s unusually fast heartbeat, which they could both hear. Geralt stood up slowly, and Jaskier took a daring step forward. The look in the witcher’s eyes was setting his entire body on fire, and the nervousness was being drowned out by the hope that this wasn’t a goodbye after all.

“Jaskier, I-” Geralt started, taking a step forward as well, leaving a foot of burning, empty space between them. Twelve small inches between Jaskier’s suddenly electrified body and the man he was so deeply in love with.

“What?” he whispered, encouraging him to finish his sentence, hoping against all odds that he wasn’t imagining the tension between them.

But Geralt gulped, and then took a step back, and the electricity that had made Jaskier feel so alive was replaced with an icy, sharp feeling in his heart.

“Look, if you want the room to yourself tonight, that’s fine. I’ll go sleep with Yennefer,” Jaskier said, his voice sounding strangely distant, even to his own ears. Geralt frowned. There was no use delaying the inevitable. The bard started making his way to the door, when Geralt grabbed his arm in his large hand, wrapping his fingers all around his elbow, shooting electricity all the way up to his shoulder and making his fingers tingle.

“I don’t want you to sleep with Yennefer.” His tone was even, yet there was an emotion under it that Jaskier couldn’t place. He rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t mean it like that. But if you want, I can go see if they have another room available, though I doubt they’ll-”

“No, dammit, Jaskier!” Geralt’s booming voice cut him off abruptly, and Jaskier flinched back, which caused Geralt to let go of his arm. The bard could read the hurt on his face. “That’s not what I mean. I don’t want you to get another room!”

“Then I literally have no idea what you want, Geralt!” Jaskier was getting frustrated now. He didn’t appreciate having his feelings toyed with, and he was so exhausted. He needed sleep, and now had to be the moment that this damned witcher chose to start opening up.

“You make it so difficult sometimes,” Geralt groaned, and Jaskier scoffed.

“I’m making it difficult?”

“Yes! You are,” Geralt exclaimed. “Can’t you just be quiet for five fucking minutes?”

“That’s rich! You come into my room uninvited, scare the shit out of me by just sitting there, after scaring the shit out of me by almost dying without having even said goodbye, and now I’m the frustrating one because I don’t have the energy to try to decode your silences and grunts? You’re the one making it so much more difficult than it has to be!” Jaskier could feel the tears running down his cheeks again, and wiped furiously at them. “Just tell me to go away, or leave yourself, but stop dragging this out. I already feel like shit after today, I don’t need you to tell me how, once again, I am such a burden to you!” He was screaming now.

“Stop telling me what to say,” Geralt yelled back.

“Then say what you want to say, instead of leaving me to guess all the time. Just for once in your life, say what you want to say!” Jaskier was out of breath now, and he was sure they would end up kicked out for this, but he was too frustrated to care.

Geralt paused, and stared. Jaskier scoffed once again, and turned around to leave, when he heard the witcher’s voice, barely more than a murmur.

“I love you.” He had said it so quietly that Jaskier was sure this was just the exhaustion catching up to him. Still, before he could stop himself, he was turning back around, ever so slowly, dreading the look he would find on Geralt’s face.

“What did you just say?” Jaskier asked carefully, his voice surprisingly calm. Geralt’s stare was unwavering, peering right into the bard’s soul.

“I love you. That’s what I came here to say. I love you. I’ve been in love with you for years now, and I didn’t think you could ever feel the same way. But Yennefer said some things earlier, about how hurt you were today, and she gave me hope I never thought I could have. If she’s wrong, I’ll understand, but if there is the slightest chance that she’s not…”

Jaskier didn’t let him finish. He grabbed his face, pulling him down, and gently brushed his lips against Geralt’s. The world stood still for a second, before Jaskier felt Geralt melt into the kiss, wrapping his body in his arms. Jaskier gasped when he felt himself being lifted off the ground, but went right back to kissing Geralt’s intoxicating lips, wrapping his legs around his waist, and his arms around his neck.

They broke apart to regain their breath when Geralt gently let Jaskier down on the bed, but the bard didn’t let go of his neck, pulling their foreheads together instead. “If you’re messing with Geralt…” he whispered against his lips.

“I love you,” Geralt repeated, and Jaskier’s heart broke at the simple sincerity of his tone.

“Good.” He lightly kissed his lips again, before pulling away once more, and opening his eyes to look into Geralt’s golden irises. “Because I love you, too,” he whispered, allowing a single tear to roll down his cheek. Geralt softly kissed it away.

The world seemed to slow down again, as Jaskier slowly brought his hands to the lacing on Geralt’s shirt, pulling on the strings to untie them. The witcher held his breath, and took the shirt off himself, before pulling off Jaskier’s as well.

After that, everything blurred a little for Jaskier, their clothing disappearing in a mess of awkward limbs, and nervous but happy giggles, Geralt’s hand never seeming to separate from his skin. But it all came back into focus when he finally found himself lying on his back, Geralt hovering over him, the two of them completely naked. Jaskier had expected to feel insecure in some way, considering how infuriatingly perfect Geralt was, and how he seemed to be devouring the bard with his golden, burning eyes. But Jaskier had never felt as comfortable and safe as he did in that moment, lying between the arms of the man he loved, looking into those eyes, and seeing nothing but tender adoration staring back.

“Are you sure about this?” Geralt asked softly, and Jaskier simply nodded, reaching up to kiss his lips one last time, before remembering that, as magical as this felt, he would be needing something to ease the process. He quickly wiggled out from under Geralt, who looked at him a little bit confused, and reached for his traveling bag, where he found a vial of oil. He giggled as he tossed it to Geralt, whose eyes lit up in understanding.

Geralt pulled a still giggling Jaskier back in bed by the waist, bringing him back under him, where he so easily seemed to belong. He used the oil to coat his fingers, as Jaskier started fidgeting impatiently. He had waited years for this moment, and the witcher seemed to be enjoying dragging this on for what felt like another decade.

Jaskier raised his head to playfully bite Geralt’s earlobe, before whispering seductively, “If you don’t use those fingers on me now, I’m going to-.” He didn’t get a chance to finish, because Geralt had slipped two large fingers inside of him, knocking the breath out of him. Jaskier grabbed the witcher’s biceps forcefully, biting his already abused bottom lip to keep from moaning.

“No,” Geralt said forcefully, pulling his fingers out before reintroducing them slowly. “I want to hear you,” he whispered in Jaskier’s ear, scissoring his fingers to stretch him out. Jaskier let out a small, almost inaudible moan. Geralt groaned, encouraging him, before bending down to capture his lips with his own, swallowing his whine when his fingers first brushed against his prostate.

Jaskier’s hips bucked up, wordlessly asking for more. Geralt added another finger, still focusing on that spot that was making his bard writhe so deliciously under him. Their tongue danced together, as Jaskier felt the familiar heat start building up in his stomach. He finally pulled back regretfully. “Geralt, love, if you don’t get inside me soon, I’m going to come before you’ve even started,” he breathed out, his body covered in a thin layer of sweat and eyes glazed over with an alluring mix of lust and love.

Geralt groaned, pulling his fingers out before coating his cock with the rest of the oil from the vial. As soon as he was done, Jaskier pulled him back down between his legs, wrapping his arms around his neck and bringing their foreheads together, holding him as close as possible for a while. Then, Jaskier set his head back down on the pillow, and murmured “I love you, Geralt.” The witcher felt like the world could end tomorrow, and he would not care, as long as Jaskier was in his arms and smiling.

Geralt kissed Jaskier’s lips one last time, before slowly pushing inside, the slickness of the oil and the warmth of Jaskier making Geralt moan low into his ear. He began setting a slow but steady rhythm of long, firm strokes inside Jaskier, each rewarded by a breathy moan from the man under him. “That’s it,” Geralt grunted, holding himself up with more and more difficulty as pleasure overtook him. “Sing for me, bard,” he said, and Jaskier gave a shaky laugh, before the loudest moan yet escaped his lips when Geralt found his prostate again.

They went down in a mess of sloppy kisses, hands in long silver hair, deliciously deep strokes, and more love than either man ever thought was possible. They came as one, breathing the same air, before Geralt latched his lips right behind Jaskier’s ear, licking lightly before sucking a bruise into the pale, sweaty skin. He pulled back, satisfied with the way a red mark was already showing up, before nuzzling the spot affectionately. Jaskier giggled, utterly spent and satisfied.

Geralt rolled off of him, and went to find a towel to clean his bard up with. Once that was done, he settled back in bed, Jaskier sprawled on top of him, a large hand safely and possessively on Jaskier’s waist.

Jaskier felt Geralt affectionately nuzzle his hair, and smiled. “I didn’t expect you to be so… tender,” he remarked, amused. Geralt scoffed, lightly pinching his back before smoothing it over with soft strokes.

“Did you think about it often?” Geralt finally asked, his voice much more vulnerable than Jaskier had anticipated. He raised his head to give the witcher a questioning look. “About this, I mean. Us? Together like this?” Geralt sighed. “There were times when I could think of nothing else. I spent days and nights imagining it, but it never came close to this,” he murmured, a soft blush on his cheeks as he ran a thumb over Jaskier's bruised bottom lip. “It just seemed impossible that you could ever feel the same,” he barely whispered now, and tears started shining in his beautiful, golden eyes.

“I do,” Jaskier said quickly, bringing a hand up to gently stroke the witcher’s cheek, desperately trying to convince him. “So much, like it’s ridiculous how much I love you. I always have. Plus, you're literally always shirtless, so of course I've though about it” he added, mischief glinting in his eyes. Geralt threw his head back in laughter, and Jaskier found that the sound still left him as speechless as ever. So he kissed him instead, long and slow, deep and thorough.

They made out like this for a little while longer, both perfectly happy, settled in the other’s embrace. When they finally fell asleep, they remained firmly tangled together, and gods help the fool who would try to tear them apart.

-

Yennefer sat in her bed, a book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. She had been trying very hard, and succeeding as always, not to listen to what was happening in the next room. But when she finally heard their breathing slow, settled, she chuckled to herself. “Took them long enough,” she smirked, turning the page of her book. “They owe me a new dress.”


End file.
